"Damage doesn't get the last word," I say. "Only the next choice does."
He looks at me then. Really looks.
"You're not here for the band, are you?"
"I'm here for you, lad."
His jaw tightens. Emotion contained, not spilling.
"I know it feels like the world is spinning and you can't make it stop right now," I say. "But I also know you don't have to do it alone."
He nods once.
"I think I need tonight," he says.
"You can have it," I reply. "I'll call you tomorrow."
When I stand, he doesn't follow me to the door, but he doesn't turn the music up to drown out his thoughts either.
That's progress.
I sit in my truck for a long moment, hands on the wheel, letting the conversation settle in my chest.
Tommy's face when he talked about his father. The shake in his hands. The way he looked at me when I said damage doesn't get the last word.
I know that look. I've worn it.
The streetlight flickers overhead, casting shadows across the dashboard. I exhale slowly, roll my shoulders, and feel the weight of the night ease just slightly.
My phone buzzes against the console.
Jay
Sonder tonight. You in? Got something to show you.
Nate
Should I be worried?
Jay
Relax. No dead bodies. Just good news and questionable decisions.
Nate
Definitely worried now.
Jay
See ya at 8.
Sonder isalive when I get there.
Warm amber light spills out onto the street, music humming low and steady inside. The place smells like citrus, hops, and comfort—like something familiar that keeps getting better with age.
Jay's behind the bar, moving through the space like it's anextension of him. Checking on tables, shaking hands, fixing small problems before they become big ones.
He wasn't always like this, but he earned it.
